


i never could forget you

by armyofbees



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Prompt Fill, Tiny bit of Angst, Tumblr Prompt, also i have no idea if i tagged wiesel right, basically just jack kelly: the origin, so uh, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: Jack Kelly is seven when his mother dies.





	i never could forget you

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt fill for the prompt "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" "My mom's dead." so thank you to the anon on tumblr who asked me for this!!
> 
> You can find me at my [tumblr](https://townhulls.tumblr.com/)! Come give me a request, a prompt, or just say hey!
> 
> EDIT: it was recently brought to my attention (by me) that the tag for wiesel (weisel?) isn't what i thought it was BUT on the wiki it lists his name as wiesel so we're gonna stick w that unless anyone has a legitimate complaint to make about it

Jack Kelly is seven when his mother dies. It leaves some sort of emptiness that can’t be filled by his father’s absence or by his drinking. His father works long hours, even longer now that his mother’s gone, and is rarely home. When he is, Jack sort of wishes he wasn’t.

The smell of alcohol becomes a familiar scent, and an empty stomach becomes the norm. Jack quickly learns that the window is the safest exit when the front door slams, and that the nuns from the convent 9 blocks away give breakfast to kids that need it. He sometimes thinks that if his mother were still around, he wouldn’t need to learn that, but he knows it’s horrible to put blame on her and shuts his mouth.

He never goes to school. Well. He went to school for a few months when he was six, but then his mother got sick and he had to stay home to take care of her and by the time second grade rolls around he has no idea when school starts or if he’d even be welcome there. His father isn’t any help with that, either.

That doesn’t stop him from trying to learn, though. While his father is working and drinking himself silly, Jack Kelly learns to read from the newsboys who eat breakfast with him, and learns that they get two meals a day because they earn it for themselves. It sounds like a dream, and he asks if they’re taking recruits. They laugh, but he gets what they mean.

A few days later, he makes the mistake of telling his father about the boys. He gets a black eye and learns not to ask his father for anything ever again.

It doesn’t put him off the newsboys—newsies, they tell him—but it makes him nervous, talking to them. They don’t ask about his eye, but they don’t talk to him about their work much after that.

Jack’s father spends his meager earnings on drink and cards, gambling himself into a hazy, penniless oblivion. It’s easy to hate him when he’s like that, Jack finds. To blame him for things. Like his mother’s death, like the fact that he’s practically an orphan already.

There is, of course, the rare night where his father comes home sober. He doesn’t apologize, at least not in the way that most people do, but he makes dinner with what he managed to buy from the market down the block, and sometimes, he talks about Jack’s mother.

But the years wear on and those nights grow fewer and farther between, and Jack comes to resent him.

It happens eventually, as most things do. In the end, the drink does him in. Jack sees it coming in his anger and his violence, but is nowhere near prepared for him to just… stop coming home. After a while Jack figures he drank himself to death, and he’s twelve when he decides that he’ll only get by if he fends for himself.

It’s harder to hate his father, though, after that.

He sleeps on the fire escape outside the apartment for a night, his back cramping and a brisk wind biting his face. In the morning, he goes to the convent.

As he gratefully takes his cup of coffee, one of the older kids, a tall, dark-haired boy who calls himself Skip, wanders over to pat him on the back. “How ya been, Jackie?” he asks amiably. “Ain’t seen ya around for a few days.”

Jack shrugs and stares into his coffee for a moment. He takes a deep breath and says, “I ain’t had a place ta go. And I was thinkin’ I could start sellin’ papes, so’s I can eat.”

Skip’s expression darkens in understanding, but the tension is chased away by a smile. “Well, you’se always welcome. Say, you got any money on ya, kid?”

“Nah, my old man used to keep it all.”

Skip gives his shoulder a friendly shove, and Jack makes a wild lunge to keep his coffee from spilling. “How’s ’bout I pay for a day’s papes an’ a night at the lodgin’ house, on me, an’ we split all a’ your earnin’s seventy-thirty.”

Jack is stunned, but he’s glad to take the deal. It sounds fair enough to him, and he only really needs to save enough for food, rent, and papers. Plus, he thinks privately, while seventy-thirty isn’t the most equal footing, Skip looks old enough that he’ll be moving out soon. By then, Jack’ll be able to support himself.

Skip puts a hand on his shoulder as he guides him through the city streets, joking with the other newsies and giving Jack little pointers before they get their papers and head out.

As they enter the circulation gate, Skip gives a low  _ “Oh,” _ and shakes Jack a little. “And this here’s Wiesel, and…” he narrows his eyes at two boys, about the same age as Jack, wearing vests, hats, and dour expressions.

“Did ya forget our names already?” asks one, mockingly. He’s wearing suspenders under his vest and he balls his hands like he’s ready for a fight.

“Shut it, Morris,” Skip says. “These here are the Delancey brothers.”

“Oscar,” the boy corrects, flatly.

Skip snorts and pats Jack’s shoulder. “All the same,” he jokes, but there’s real venom buried in his tone. “They’s both im-be-seals—” he enunciates this carefully “—if the only job they’s gettin’ is with their uncle.”

Oscar snarls vaguely at the jab, but his brother—Morris?—has stepped up next to him, his gaze fixed on Jack. “Who’s this, Skipper?”

“New kid, Morris,” Skip replies coldly, stepping forward almost protectively. Jack appreciates the gesture, but he’d rather have this fight himself. “Ain’t done nothin’ to ya.”

“He’s with you, though,” Morris sneers, jutting his chin at Jack. “You gotta name?” He smirks. “Carl?”

Jack takes a threatening step forward, brushing Skip’s hand off when it tries to hold him back. “Jack Kelly,” he says, standing as tall as he can—he thinks he’s a few inches taller than these guys. “If I didn’t already know your names I’d think you was sewer rats one an’ two!”

This earns a smattering of laughter from the other newsies, and Oscar steps forward so he’s within swinging distance. Jack resists the urge.

“You wanna test me, Kelly?”

Jack almost laughs because they’re both twelve and this guy is talking about fighting him like they’re in the ring, but he doesn’t. “I ain’t in the habit a’ animal abuse,” he says, smiling cheekily.

Oscar rocks back on his heels and Jack senses the fist coming more than he sees it. He ducks and it glances off his temple, stinging dully but missing his eye. Jack lunges for Oscar, but suddenly there are hands on his shoulders and Oscar is stumbling backwards, held by someone much bigger than him.

Jack tries to shake Skip off, but he’s held fast. Oscar stands across from him, wrestling with a disapproving Wiesel.

“That all ya got, Kelly?” demands Oscar.

“Fuck you!” Jack retorts, because he’s out of witty comebacks.

Morris steps forward—he’s older, more mature, Jack can see that now—and puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Whoa, do you kiss your mudda with that mouth?”

Jack stills in Skip’s grip and his hands form fists at his sides. He looks at Morris very evenly. “My mom’s dead.”

Morris’ face spreads into an ugly grin and he raises his arms to gesture to the newsies at large. “Welcome to the club, Carl! You’ll fit right in.”

Skip jerks Jack’s shoulder and shakes his head when he looks at him, steering him carefully away from the scene. “Don’t mind ’em, Jack. They’s just tryin’ to get us to stoop lower than ’em.”

“I’ll lay on the ground if I can soak ’em,” says Jack, and Skip laughs, shoving him a little.

“They’s gonna regret sayin’ that to you soon ’nough, I can tell.”

Jack smiles and decides that Skip is right. The comment about his mom still stings, though, and he tries not to think about where he’d be right now if she’d just gotten better. He tries not to blame his father for it, he tries to accept things for the way they are. It takes a while (a very long while, and good friends, and a cause to fight for), but scars heal and fade, and eventually, he manages.


End file.
